Jack Off

by K.B. Cinder

“It looked like a hell of a night. That was your bachelorette party, right?” “It was,” she answers in a clipped voice. “But the wedding is off.” Well, fuck. On the one hand, I feel terrible for her; on the other, my dick takes a victory lap. At least I haven’t been lusting over a taken woman. I’m not that kind of guy, no matter what my dick might want.

“Anything can appear better,” I say, sighing. “But you need to see the value in what you have. I’ve got my father, a house, and a noodle-loving woman living above my garage.” She rolls her eyes. “Thanks.” Eager to shake the draw I have toward her, I stand. “I’m going to grab a beer inside. Do you want one?” “Sure.” I pause, hearing the emotion still clinging to her voice from our earlier chat about her dog. “Okay, but only under one condition.” Her green eyes skim me nervously. “What?” “You don’t run off and try to puke on my lawn.”

“You know, there’s a new man in town.” “Oh, yeah?” I have a sneaking suspicion about who the new guy everyone’s raved about since my bachelorette party is, but for all I know, more people could be moving into Henley than just my guess. The years might’ve brought some new flavor to this time capsule of a town’s population. She looks at the door nervously as if the mystery man will walk in and catch her gossiping. “He’s handsome.” “You’ve seen him?” She nods emphatically. “He came in for cheese blintzes a few weeks ago. He’s yummier than anything I can bake.” I laugh, knowing that it very well could be Jack. He’s blessed in the looks department. “I’ll keep an eye out then.” She taps the register’s bulky buttons before turning to me with a wink. “Try not to fall in love like the rest of us.” I shake my head with a smile and reach into my purse for my wallet. “I’ll do my best.”

“Something important came up. Can you sit with Pop today? Double-time pay since it’s last minute, of course. I’m sorry—this never happens, but it’s time-sensitive, and I have to handle it today.” Cha-ching. Hello, future textbook money. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere unless I got a call about Couscous. Now, I guess Johnny’s hitting the road with me for a scenic drive if I do. “That’s fine. Is everything okay?” “It will be,” he says, scanning me over before lifting his cup. “I’ll be back late. Order in for dinner. I keep a credit card in my office on the bookshelf. Top shelf, last book on the right. Don’t let you-know-who see, or he’ll use it to buy porn.” “But you can find it for free on—” My mouth clamps shut as soon as I realize what I’m saying. What is wrong with me? Why does my brain turn into a potato when he’s around? He’s a man. That’s it. Sure, he’s cute—okay, hot—but it’s no excuse for my brain to leave the building and start firing off nonsense. His lips tilt with a smirk. “Good to know how you spend your time. I’ll be sure never to let you use my computer.”

“My wife was a lawyer, you know?” he offers. I slowly set the contract to the side. “Really? What kind?” Maybe that’s why Jack’s such a stickler with contracts. His mother was a pro at them. “Family law. Best damn one in Pennsylvania.” My interest piques, but I try not to look too giddy. This is the most he’s opened up to me beyond the stories about Jack as a kid when Lady was still here. Usually, he’s got nothing but snark for me. “That must’ve been tough sometimes.” “Yes, and no. She worked in child custody for years before she found her place in the legal world. One day, she helped with an adoption case, fell in love, and never looked back.” “It’s amazing that she found something she loved so dearly,” I say, envying such luck. “By chance, too.” It’s not that I don’t enjoy working here with him. So far, I do, but I can’t help but feel anxious about starting school again in the future. What if it’s a waste of time and money? What if I can’t settle on a program? What if I can’t stand Henley any longer and move? There’s too much uncertainty swirling. I’ve never been indecisive in my life, and I hate Bryant more than ever for robbing me of my confidence. “Jack gets his tenacity from her,” he reveals, lowering the television’s volume. “She’d work a case like a dog to see it through. He does the same thing when he’s set on something.” Despite my initial resistance, he certainly got his way about me working here. Not that dangling money and a place to stay in front of me wer...

“Have you ever seen one of these?” I ask, holding up the tablet as I step onto the porch. The space is quickly becoming my favorite part of the house. He frowns. “A big ass cell phone?” Laughing, I shake my head. “No, it’s a tablet. It’s a handheld computer. You can play games, chat with your friends, read—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to do that.” “Come on, it’ll be fun,” I push. “Do you have any social media?” He huffs, crossing his arms. “I don’t have any social anything.” I don’t know if he’s serious, but my heart still aches for him. “It’s a way to connect with people all around the world with the click of a button. You can see pictures they share, funny stories, life updates….” He rolls his eyes. “What do I share? That I got fat, moved in with my son, and have a babysitter? That sounds thrilling.”

“And I don’t post that much. Some people post all their business.” I didn’t even post about the breakup. I just scrubbed my pages clean of Bryant and everything wedding related. Other people practically post their Pap smear slides for input and validation. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s look up Jack.” “Let’s not,” I declare. I don’t need to know more about my boss beyond our chat and laughs last night. That was enough line-crossing for me. Stalking his social media feels extra icky. Like a stubborn child, Johnny hits me with an aggravated look. “Why?” I shift in my seat. “Because it’s his personal profile?” And maybe because I don’t need temptation lurking just a click away. “Don’t be a wimp. I thought you were a cool egg. Don’t tell me you’re boring, too.” I don’t know why I’m offended, but I am. “Okay, what’s his last name?” I relent, my resolve lasting all of one second as I extend a hand for the tablet. I haven’t reached that point of the contract yet. I imagine Jack’s full name is sitting at the very end of the pile with a request for my signature in blood. It’s probably something broody and sexy, like Steel or Everwood. No, Everhard. Johnny hands over the tablet triumphantly. “Offenbach. O-f-f-e-n-b-a-c-h.” “Wait…” I pause in the midst of typing, leaving Jack Off in the search field. “He willingly goes by Jack?” “Funny, right? His mother freaked out once she figured that out, but it was too late. We’d been calling him Jack for a few months by then....

“He has no personal life.” “You don’t know that….” “Oh, I know it. That’s why he stole mine. If he can’t have fun, I can’t have fun.” “You believe that?” I challenge. I barely know the two men, but I know what he’s spewing is complete horse manure. “He dragged me out of my home to this prison.” “Technically, you were in a physical therapy rehab first, right?” I ask. “He’s only trying to help you.” “There’s a difference between helping and smothering. I can’t fart without him asking me why and calling a doctor.”

what’s your email?” “JohnnyOffenbach,” he huffs. “At?” I asked. He grimaces. “At what? The internet.” I bite my cheek, knowing he’ll storm off if I laugh. “No, like… at Yahoo, at Gmail…” “Oh, I think at Offenbach.com” I want to argue, but I try it, and it works oddly enough. “Name?” He folds his hands on the tabletop in front of him. “John Offenbach, Jr.” “Date of birth?” I ask. I should know these things, but Jack and Lady only gave me his first name and a list of his meds. His medications are already sorted in a pill counter each morning and don’t need refilling until Monday when I’ll see all the bottles up close and personal. “3000 BC.” “You’re funny.” “June 20, 1975.” I sigh. “Come on…” “Look, that’s the day Jaws released, and it was a time of rebirth for me.” “Rebirth?” “Yeah, I vowed never to go in the ocean again. Before that, I was an avid surfer.” Begrudgingly, I write it in. “Don’t blame me if your friends get salty.” “Fuck ‘em. The ones that are alive won’t know any different.” I pass him the tablet. “Enter your high school name, college, and last job if you’d like.” He takes a little while, but he manages and pushes the tablet back to me. With a few more taps and skips, a massive list of suggested friends appears. “Alright, these are people you might know based on that info. I’ll say a name, and you tell me whether to request them as a friend, okay?” He looks unimpressed. Bored, even. “Okay.” “Peter Biel?” I ask, looking down at the smiling senior ...

I grew up comfortable, but building my own company introduced me to the world of fuck-you money and fuck-you people. These are fuck-you people. They won’t hesitate to step on someone’s throat to get ahead. With fuck-you money, I can squeeze the throats of every single fuck-you person I come across and not bat an eyelash.

Usually, I do my dirty work from afar, but for whatever reason, I need to do this myself, in person. Maybe all this misery with Pop sent me over the edge, and I’ve finally fucking lost it. It only took what… three months? Or maybe I refuse to see an innocent woman get shit on by some rich piss ant. Cheating is ugly enough, but stealing her dog is downright cruel. I felt every syllable of pain in her voice last night. I’ve been in her shoes. I hadn’t had to deal with a stolen dog at the time, but I know the taste of betrayal. It’s a poison I wish on no one.

This putrid loaf of elephant dung doesn’t deserve Cece. He never did. Bryant is a trust fund fuck with eyes that are too far apart and a mouth that seems incapable of closing all the way. I’m waiting for a fly to buzz in it and lay some eggs. If one does, I’ll cheer. He’s wearing a high-end suit that’s too loose in the shoulders, probably because his are rounded and weak—fitting for a guy that treats a woman like crap. I don’t know what Cece could’ve ever seen in him. She’s a ten. This creep is a shaky three at best.

“Cecelia Cook’s dog. Where is it?” I’m not playing games. I’ll tear this place apart myself if I have to. Stealing is one thing but stealing a living creature is another. The plastic princess sighs dramatically and sends her eyes in a lengthy roll like I’m the world’s biggest inconvenience. “Oh, Christ. You’re here about her? You know she’s just Jersey trash. Bryant had a lapse in judgment when dating her, and—” I cut her off. “Don’t waste my time with attempts at mudslinging. She had a lapse in judgment dating that doofus.” I gesture to her son, who now looks like he’d like to rearrange my face. Immaturely, I almost want him to take a swing. I have a hell of a lot of pent-up frustration begging for release. Maybe I could punch his eyes closer together and help fix his face. “She’s too beautiful of a soul for either of you. Now, where’s the dog?” Patricia sits up like I shoved a cattle prod up her rear. “Excuse me! You will not talk to me—” “I see this ending one of two ways: you get me the dog now, and we’re fine, or you keep lying to me, and I make you tell me.” Her brows raise slightly, which is impressive given the vat of Botox pumped into her forehead. “Are you threatening me?” “A few weddings are going on today, right? Most people have a soft spot for animals. How would they feel if the people holding their event stole a girl’s dog because she dumped some loser? Bad for business, right?” She shrugs, indifferent. “They’ve prepaid, and—” I answer her shrug with one of...

“You’re a working girl now?” “I’ve always worked,” I argue, rubbing behind Couscous’s ear. Other than the day or so between his mother firing me and Jack hiring me, at least. “I meant you’re a working girl.” He waggles his brows, and I don’t miss the jab this time around. “Uh, no, creep.” “Then why are you here and not with your whore of a mother?” I don’t expect the insult, and it lands brutally, leaving me speechless. Sue isn’t a whore. Sue’s just… Sue. She places bets on the wrong love. There’s nothing more to it. I’m still reeling when Johnny asks from somewhere behind me, “Who’s this goofy-looking bastard?” “My dog, Couscous,” I respond, hugging the pup close. “Not the cotton swab. The hammerhead fuck on the porch.” I blink, confused, and look back at Bryant, suddenly getting the reference. Huh, I never noticed how far apart his eyes are. “My ex-fiancé,” I explain. “He was bringing back my dog he stole.”

“You have a dog?” Johnny asks, lingering by the staircase. By the look on his face, I know he overheard what Bryant said about Sue, and my heart aches with embarrassment. I don’t want my personal life to make him think differently of me. I nod. “I do. And I also have a problem.” “What?” he asks. “I can’t have him here,” I say, panicking. “I need to call a friend to get him before Jack gets home.” And now that I think about it, I’m relatively sure Stef’s at her beach house in Charleston this weekend. Crap. Johnny’s unmoved. “Jack loves dogs.” “But he didn’t say I could move in with one.” He waves me off, limping over slowly. “He’ll love a dog, even though that thing looks more like a rabbit with those ears.” He leans in, fascinated. “What the hell is that thing?” “The pound said a Bichon/terrier mix,” I answer with a shrug. “He’s just a Couscous to me.” “It’s oddly adorable.” “Thanks.” I laugh, though I’m slightly offended on my poor little guy’s behalf. “Do you mind sitting with him while I call Jack?” “Only if you tell me why you were engaged to a hammerhead,” he taunts. I sigh. “The world may never know.”

“Hello?” “Hi, it’s Cece. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s important. Do you have a second?” Tears flood my eyes. I can’t help it. I feel like a kid calling my parent from the principal’s office. “Yeah, I’m driving. What’s up?” I suck in a nervous breath. Here goes nothing. “So, my ex just showed up with my dog, and my friend can’t get him until next week at the soonest and—” “Get him?” he asks, cutting me off. I pace the island, running my fingers along the cold countertop. “Yeah, she’s going to watch him until I find an apartment and—” “You don’t need to find an apartment. It’s fine.” “It’s fine?” I echo. “The dog. He’s fine. You won’t let him crap all over the house or eat Pop, right?” My shoulders slump with relief. “No! I’ll clean up after him and keep him in my room and….” Oh, my God. I sound like a kid trying to convince my parents to let me keep a pet. This is mortifying. “Calm down,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. “Is the ex gone?” “Yes.” And I still don’t know how he found me here, so if he asks, I’m screwed. “Was he polite?” “Yes.” I lie. “Are you lying to me?” Dammit. “No.” He sighs. “I’ll be home by nine.”

Two Facebook notifications are waiting, which is weird since I hardly ever use the app other than to post my yearly thanks for the birthday wishes blanket message or to check someone’s birthday if I’m unsure. Something about posting my thoughts to an echo chamber feels creepy. I tap into the app and almost drop my phone when I see one is a notification for a like from Cece. Cece Cook. My Cece. Correction: Pop’s caregiver, Cece. She liked a status of mine that’s over two years old, back from when I visited Cozumel. It’s a picture of a cocktail and a sunset with the cringe-worthy caption ‘wish you were here.’ I must’ve posted it while tipsy. Someone’s been snooping. Poorly. She has less self-control than I do, which is surprising. I almost went crazy last night trying to keep from doing the same. Instead, I settled for tracking down her sack of shit ex’s family vineyard information. But now that self-control is gone, I can’t resist tapping into her profile. Technically, she started it, so I don’t feel as guilty.

I made some stops on the way back to ensure that a certain someone and his mother feel the heat. Nothing to harm their business, of course, but having friends in the media pays off. Tomorrow’s society pages will run a piece on the canceled engagement of one C. Cook and Bryant Sevigny, with the wide-eyed fuck exposed as cheating trash. Is it mature? No. Do I care? Also no.

I ordered you a pint of lo mein. It’s in the fridge.” “You didn’t have to….” Waving me off, she replies, “I saw you eyeing mine last night.” I wasn’t eyeing up the food, but I roll with

feel like I’m in a dream. I could talk to this woman for hours. The words pour out with her. I don’t need to think. We naturally flow back and forth, and every little nugget she shares keeps me coming back for more. The only work I put in is chasing the next laugh and layering on corny jokes to see her smile. It makes zero sense. I hated her guts a week ago, but now, I can’t get enough of her.

“I have half of a muffin left…” she offers, pointing to the counter where the bakery box sits when I toss my empty lo mein container in the trash. “I don’t want your muffin,” I say. That didn’t sound right. “Your baked muffin,” I correct, fumbling over the words. Why is my mouth still moving? Stop moving. Abort mission. Do not pass Go. Leave it. I clear my throat. “Not your lady muffin.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“So, I have some news you won’t like to hear,” she says after a minute. Her smile’s gone, and my stomach twists. I swear to God, if she says she took that creep back after everything he put her through, I’m going to have a coronary. He doesn’t deserve to look at her, let alone be with her. “And that would be?” I implore. Her shoulders sag. “I don’t know how my ex knew I was here. I haven’t told anyone where I’m staying, and he just showed up with Couscous out of the blue.” Relief runs through me, but I’m still troubled by what she reveals with that statement. “Who knows? But, please, for the love of life, always tell someone where you’re living, especially if you’re moving in with strangers. For all you know, I have a well in the basement I plan on putting you in.” A smile creeps to her lips. “You aren’t planning that, right? I’m claustrophobic.” “If I was, do you think I’d tell you?” I tease. “No,” she admits. “But it’s highly doubtful you’re planning something like that.” I’m having too much fun with this, and it’s utterly ridiculous. “Why do you say that?” “You’re terrified of raccoons. A real serial killer would’ve already made them into hats.”

“So, do you want my muffin?” she asks, grabbing the box from the counter and stepping toward me. Her scent is concentrated, with her damp hair giving off pops of floral notes every time she moves and swishes the strands. I like it free like this, hanging in waves rather than hidden away in a ponytail or bun. She looks relaxed. At peace. I break my eyes away from her, realizing I’m staring. “Uh, no, I’m okay.” I’m not, considering my heart feels like it will pound out of my chest the closer she gets. She stops in front of me, holding the box out. “Are you sure? I didn’t bite it.” She could’ve licked the fucking thing, and it wouldn’t have mattered, but I can’t say that. This is precisely why I shouldn’t be in here right now. I should’ve left her alone outside and minded my own damn business, but that would’ve been too easy. I shake my head, focusing on a spot on the wall instead of her. “Jack?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. I take the muffin box and set it beside me on the island. “Thanks.” “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I lie, swallowing hard and forcing myself to look back at her. Her green eyes are wide, and a confused line etches between her brows. “Did I do something?” “No. You’re fine. I’m just a little out of it tonight.” More like a little out of it since she stumbled onto my lawn and into my life. But that’s another story we need not go into. She’s unmoved, remaining planted firmly in front of me, all curves and no bullshit. “You sure?” I’m a direct man. ...

You touched his pickle?!?! My phone chimes with another text from Jack, but I finish my response to Stef first. The pickle touched me. I just held on for dear life. I had to rub one out after so I didn’t explode. Now, what am I supposed to do? As soon as I send the text, time stands still. I’m not in Stef’s text window. Oh, shit. Jack Thanks for sharing. I’m still reeling when another text trickles in. Jack That makes two of us, but we should pretend it never happened. I’m your employer. That was entirely out of line for me.

“I’m bored,” he grumbles, setting down his glass of ice water. “I got a dating app from that App Store you showed me, but it’s all men.” “All men?” I echo, taking the seat next to him and scooping Couscous into my lap when he jumps excitedly on my legs. “What’s it called?” I’m not thrilled he downloaded a dating app, but he’s a grown man, so it’s not like I can tell him what to do. As long as he doesn’t start inviting people over, it’s harmless. If it ever gets to the point of him considering meeting anyone, then I’ll convince him to talk to Jack about it. “Grindra.” Oh, no. I extend a hand, and he gives me the tablet with a frown. “Good-looking fellas, but I want women. Everywhere I click, another man pops up. They’re getting less clothed, too. I might lose an eye soon if one of their… you know, things pop out.”

“Can we not be like this?” I shift my weight between my feet. “Like what?” “Weird.” “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie. I’m fine. Sure, my heart rate has risen one million percent since walking into his office, but I’ve never been better. “We were fine before... Saturday night. We were fine this morning, too. Why are you being so rigid?” “I’m not rigid.” “You won’t even look at me,” he grumbles. I raise my eyes defiantly and get a sucker punch to the chest. Hot damn. It’s settled. I’m burning his suits. They look delicious on him, but nothing beats this man in jeans and a t-shirt. The black fabric caresses his upper body, showing off his sculpted shoulders and biceps. I’d bet a nickel that his jeans hug his ass just right, too. “Better?” He sighs. “You’re a smart ass.” “Better than a dumb ass,”